


Time to Say Goodbye

by The_Peridot_Writer



Category: Notre-Dame de Paris | The Hunchback of Notre-Dame - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2019-10-21 21:56:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17650616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Peridot_Writer/pseuds/The_Peridot_Writer
Summary: He wasn’t prepared for it. She knew. She accepted it. He did not.





	1. Chapter 1

**Time to Say Goodbye**

**Summary: He wasn’t prepared for it. She knew. She accepted it. He did not.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunchback of Notre-Dame or any of its plots and characters. This is simply for entertainment purposes. All rights belong to Disney and Victor Hugo.**

**Song: Time to Say Goodbye by Andrea Bocelli, featuring Sarah Brightman**

_Cuando sono sola sogno all’orizzonte e man can le parole_

_Si lo so che non c’e luce inura stanza quando manca il sole_

_Se non ci sei tu con me, con me_

            Esmeralda shook her head yet a third time, refusing to meet her husband’s gaze, her eyes remaining locked on the wooden floor, her head bent, as if in prayer. Her hands trembled whilst tears threatened to spill. “Esmeralda, look at me,” Frollo pleaded once again, his tone desperate, dismayed. “How long-?” He had no courage to complete his inquiry, his voice catching in his throat.

            “Five months.”

            “Five months? You’ve been keeping me in the dark for five months?” He now demanded.

            “Longer. I found out about five months ago. I’ve been in the dark for far longer. Ever since… Ever sine our wedding took place,” she revealed, her body tensing as she waited for her husband to snap.

            The minister’s eyes widened in shock. “That was… Esmeralda, our wedding was almost two years ago!”

            She nodded wistfully, a whimper of pain and sorrow escaping past her lips. He, in return, placed a gentle hand beneath her chin, lifting her head so she was forced to look at him. Another shaky hand rose, wiping away a tear that managed to escape and roll down her caramel cheek. “When must you go?” he questioned, his voice laced with such a great grief.

            “Two days. We leave in two days.”

            “We?” He latched onto the word. “Do you mean…?” He already knew the answer that was going to be given but he couldn’t help but hope, wish, pray for something different.

            She shook her head solemnly. “Everyone left in the Court of Miracles and I. Not you. You must stay in Paris. It needs you. Your guidance, your wisdom. It has no other leader except the king. And you’ve been protecting this city from him. You cannot go. People need you.”

            “I need you more,” he objected, his hand lingering on her cheek, his thumb occasionally wiping away the salty liquid that managed to escape despite her best efforts to suppress them. They both were quiet, neither of them speaking a word, the atmosphere around them despondent, much like the couple. Claude broke the deafening silence, needing to know one thing above all the rest. His free hand grasped his wife’s. “Will I ever see you again?”

            A pregnant pause before she answered truthfully. “I don’t know.”


	2. Chapter 2

_Su le finistre mostra atutti il muo cuore che hai accessor_

_Chiudi dentro me la loce che hai inctrato per strada_

            “I don’t know.” The words continued to reiterate in his head that night as he held Esmeralda in his arms. She had fallen into an uneasy and troubled sleep hours ago and he reckoned it was around two, perhaps three in the morning. He could not will himself the sweet release of slumber. No. Not with knowing that he might never see his wife of two years again. They spent so little time together and it was nowhere near up. They were supposed to be married for years, have children, grow old together. He was supposed to leave the ministry and go with her to the countryside in a cabin, live peacefully with her as they raised their children. He would wake with her and sleep with her in his arms. They will go out on walks and curl by the fire as it snowed outside. He will care for her when she got sick and tell her stories as she drifted asleep. He was supposed to spend the rest of his life with her. And not being able to, all that being erased due to three simple words… He didn’t know if he could live with that reality, that possibility. It was a wager he wasn’t willing to take a chance with.

            He began to think of ways to keep her with him. He could insist, bargain. Hell, he even started to consider locking her in the dungeons, and keeping her there until the whole thing eventually blew over. That was the problem, however. He had no clue how long it would take until the events were over, until everything would go back to normal. He wasn’t even sure how big of a threat this was. It couldn’t have been too dire because the gypsies didn’t move until the next day, after two years of preparing.

            Now that Claude truly thought about it, he noted the decreased population of gypsies in Paris. As he thought about it more and more, he realized how blind he actually was. Only now he was noticing the palpable fear in his wife’s eyes, the unmistakable sorrow, sadness. The faded tear tracks on her cheeks. He began to recall her being up before he even woke, making him wonder how many sleepless nights she actually had over the last few months. There was always a lingering look of fatigue and exhaustion in her eyes that wouldn’t leave, weariness regularly clinging onto her much like a second skin.

            Oh God, how did he not notice it? He loved her for Christ’s sake, shouldn’t he be able to see the small hints that something was horribly wrong? No, obviously not. He was too absorbed with his desires, his needs that he took no time in his day to even ask how Esmeralda was doing. He would inquire sometimes, not most times. It would slip his mind frequently. And even if he asked, he would give such a fake “fine” or “I’m alright”, that should never suffice. He thought he had changed. Obviously not. He was still so blind that he couldn’t even acknowledge the fact that something was bothering her until she directly told him. What kind of a husband was he? He thought everything was fine for she never told him if anything was wrong. But that still wasn’t an excuse. He should have been able to tell. The signs were so clear, she deserved better than what he could provide her but was still selfish enough to ask her to be his.

            Now there he was, Esmeralda asleep in his arms for only one more night until she would leave. Why couldn’t he realize something was wrong? Why couldn’t he have figured it out? He had the power to prevent such an occurrence. He could bargain with the king, bribe, protect. He could have stopped the whole even before it got this bad. But it was too late. Perhaps too late to stop the others but his wife… His wife would stay. He had the power to ensure that now.

            Claude gradually got out of bed, carefully gathering her in his arms so he wouldn’t wake her as he headed towards the dungeons, praying to Maria that she would understand and eventually forgive him for what he was about to do. He would keep her with him, no matter the cost.

            He wrapped her in the blankets from their large bed, placing her in a cell, careful to do so. He took her delicate wrists in his hands, shackling them before placing them on her stomach, letting out a breath when she didn’t wake. She must truly be exhausted. He made one final trip back up and down, settling a mattress on the floor before moving her to it. She didn’t deserve to sleep on the floor like a criminal.

            No matter if Esmeralda was displeased with it and no matter how much it ached Claude to imprison her, it needed to be done. He couldn’t lose her. He needed her. She was the reason he woke every morning, the reason he ate, worked and actually slept peacefully at night, the best he has ever slept. He strived to make her smile, to hear her laugh, seeing the sparkle of love and admiration in her brilliant emerald eyes for him and him alone.

            Claude exited the cell, quietly closing and locking the door behind him, allowing himself to look upon his wife’s features the little that the darkness permitted. He then glanced down at her chains. They allowed her to roam free but if she somehow managed to get the key to the cell, they would not permit her anywhere past the cell door. He kept the key in his office in a locked drawer just in case.

            But he remained awake for the remaining hours of the night, laying in bed, staring into the darkness. Once he heard the bells toll seven, he pulled on his regular clothes, getting breakfast for him and his wife. The dungeons only had a few guards for it resigned mostly empty, only a few criminals passing through. None remained long, either being transferred to another dungeon or killed that day based upon the severity of the crime.

            He entered the cell, sitting on the floor next to his wife, the breakfast placed besides him. He admired his wife’s features, brushing a strand of raven hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear with a tender touch he held only for her. His hand confined in her hair that felt like pure silk. He leaned down, pressing a kiss on her forehead. “You can’t leave me,” he whispered to her sleeping wife. “I don’t care if my life is in danger for keeping you with me… It doesn’t matter, Esmeralda. You can’t leave me. I need you. You might hate me for keeping you here but I can’t lose you,” he repeated. “I can’t live without you anymore… Never again. Never, never again.” He never truly spoke the words aloud to her when she was conscious. He chuckled bitterly. He was a coward for telling her when she probably couldn’t even hear him. “Never, never again.”


	3. Chapter 3

_Paesi che non ha mai veduto e vissuto con addesso silivivro_

_Con te partiro su navi per mari che il lo so_

_No, no, non esi stono piu_

_It’s time to say goodbye_

            Esmeralda came to only after a few minutes from what Claude “admitted” to her. The first thing she noticed were the shackles binding her hands together in front of her. The second was that she was… As she sat up, a horrible feeling of déjà vu consumed her, her mind wandering back to the night before she was supposed to be executed. She shuddered at the horrid memory, goosebumps forming on her bare arms from both the dampness of the cell and the fear that managed to reclaim her heart. She stopped upon feeling thin and gentle arms wrap around her from behind, the touch of familiar velvet pulling her back to reality. “Claude?” she murmured her husband’s name. “Claude? Why am I?” She pulled away from his embrace, fear running through her veins in icy veins as she allowed her gaze to connect with Claude’s.

            “You can’t go,” was all he stated, “I won’t allow it.”

            “So you chain me up like some sort of criminal?” she demanded, glaring at him in return.

            He hesitated, thinking about the answer before nodding. “Yes,” he admitted. At that, she shook her head in disbelief. She understood that he was just concerned but there came a line and he had just crossed it. He looked downright guilty and upset and whilst she felt a prick of guilt in return for being the reason to his pain, she couldn’t let it go. She felt too sick and upset to.

            “Claude… Let me go. This is not the time to do this,” she whimpered, a new fear beginning to flow through her. “Claude, if you don’t let me go, you’ll get hurt. It’d be safe for the both of us if I am to leave today. You’ll be charged with treason if the king catches me with you.”

            “If you just stay down here… He’ll think you’re a prisoner,” he started.

            “And then? The king will want to see me executed in front of him despite any crimes that I did or did not commit. I’m still a gypsy within his eyes. I have to go.”

            “No!” He now knelt down in front of her, his head in his hands. “No, you can’t go! I forbid it! I won’t allow it, Esmeralda. I won’t allow my love to leave me. You’re my emerald. I can’t lose you. I can’t. Please, don’t make me lose you. Don’t… don’t leave. I wouldn’t be able to live without you.”

            “Claude,” her own voice broke upon hearing the pain in his. “I wish I could… I wish I could change things so that we are to remain together. I truly do. I wish I didn’t have to go and I wish I can stay with you but the power is out of both of our hands. But the king…”

            “The king has barely any control over his people, nonetheless, my people of Paris. You will be able to stay. You will. You can’t leave and you won’t.” He stood, backing away as the gypsy came forwards. “Forgive me but this must be done,” he whispered, kissing her forehead and leaving her still shackled. She watched as he exited the celled and locked the door behind, ascending the stairs and exiting the dungeons.

            “Claude, this joke is over,” Esmeralda called out as she heard the dungeon door slam shut. “Claude! This isn’t funny!” Panic began to set in fully at the thought of remaining trapped in the cell despite the mattress, blankets, water and food. “Claude! Don’t do this! Let me go! Claude!... Claude!” She repeated again and again, tears welling up within her emerald eyes as unwanted memories of when she had been captured resurface. She continued to beg, her words meeting only silence. She gave up after a few good minutes, her arms remaining shackled. The chains might not be tight enough to harm her but they did cause great discomfort to the unfortunate gypsy. The most she struggled, fought against the iron grip, the more they appeared to restrain her, to tighten their grip on her.

            Her heart beat wildly within her chest, her breath quickening as she felt a rich red liquid flow down her caramel arms from her wrists. The smell of rust filled the air, causing her stomach to churn painfully. She coughed, bending over and heaving up the little amount of dinner she had that night before. “God… Claude, please,” she begged, her voice pleading. “Please, let me go. I can’t do this. It hurts. Claude. You’re gonna get in trouble, you’re gonna get hurt. I beg of you, let me go.”

            She mumbled something incoherent, another plea in Bohemian escaping past her lips before the stress, the fear for Claude’s life took over and unconsciousness claimed her, taking her away from the real world. The blood pooled around her, staining her clothes, blankets, and mattress. She didn’t hear the cell door open nor felt the strong hands lifting her and carrying her away, the shackles falling to the floor.


	4. Chapter 4

_E io si lo co che sei con me, con me_

_Tu mia luna, sei qui con me_

_Mio sole tu sei qui con me, con me, con me, con me_

            The gypsy groaned at the light assaulting her vision from a window overhead. She moved it, only slightly. She felt not the soft mattress, but a hard, wooden bed. Her wrists were still shackled as well as her arms, legs, waist, and ankles, planting her flat against the bed, causing her to be unable to move. She finally opened her emerald eyes that immediately connected with those that were cruel, black and unfeeling, sending shivers down her spine. “Claude,” she whispered out. “Where’s Claude?”

            The guard, not one of the judge’s based upon his armor, ran a single gloved finger over her cheek, trailing to her neck and causing a shudder of disgust to rush through her. “The minister is not here. Your love,” he spat coldly, “was the one who turned you in, gypsy whore.”

            She didn’t believe a single word uttered by the man. “No,” she responded. “No, he didn’t. You lie!”

            “Silence, witch!” He slapped her across the face, the loud sound of her heard slamming into the wood echoing and bouncing off the stone walls, making it seem much louder than what it truly was. “If he was smart, he would have done so…” He now walked along the bed, his hand gliding along the length of her body, making her realize she had been switched to an extremely thin prison garb so old and worn that was no doubt see through by that point. “No matter. He will be taken care of alongside of you, with you and then the king will find a suitable person to be minister. Hopefully not as disappointing as this one anyways. I said the title shouldn’t have been passed down to him from his father but…” He smirked, stopping as he allowed his hand to hover above the area between her legs.

            “It’s not going to make a difference with what I’m going to do with you for you will be killed at the break of dawn tomorrow. Such a shame. A beautiful girl such as you to waste. Pity…” He placed his hand down, his index finger searching before finding the desired source. He began to rub the pink knot beneath her garment, smiling at the waves of pleasure that visibly rolled through her before he retreated. “Just a taste… Get yourself ready for tonight harlot as it will be my turn to taste,” he smirked and left with that.

            Esmeralda stared up towards the ceiling, the cold air causing her to shake along with the fear of losing not only her own life but Claude’s because of her. “I’m sorry,” she began. “I knew something like this was going to happen. I knew I would only cause trouble and even if you are not here, I know you can, somehow, be able to hear me, to listen. Claude, I’m sorry. I told you to let me go. I did. None of this would be happening now if you listened. I know that your intentions were good but when I said I had to go… This is my fault. If it wasn’t for me… you wouldn’t be in this mess. I’m sorry…”

            She trailed off, starting to shake more as worst case scenarios began to form. Claude could be anywhere. He could be chained, tortured, unconscious. All because of her and her idiot self for falling in love with a French man. The French minister, no less. However, her breath caught in her throat as relief spread throughout her, hearing her name being called out by the only voice she wanted to hear. “Esmeralda…” She wished she could lift her head to see past her cell.

            “Claude! Claude, where are you?” she heard a faint groan of pain in response from her lover. “Claude,” she tried again. “Where are you? Are you alright? What hurts? Please, tell me. Have they hurt you?” She waited a few minutes for an answer, fear forming that unconsciousness overtook him. She let out a breath she knew not she had been holding when he began to speak.

            “God, my head,” he whispered. “My head hurts. That’s it but… That’s not my concern. What about you? What did they tell you? Did they do anything to you? Did they touch you, harm you?”

            The gypsy remained quiet at that, not wishing to reveal anything. He had enough to contend with without worrying if she was going to be violated or not before her execution. “Esmeralda? Esmeralda, can you hear me?” he demanded. When he received no response, the fear became palpable in his voice. “Please. Answer me.”

            She nodded mutely, mentally slapping herself for he could not see her. “Yes, I can hear you,” she breathed. “No, they didn’t touch me. They said that we are to be executed tomorrow at dawn. Someone else will take over as minister. That’s it. That’s all I know. I’m sorry.”

            “I don’t care about my damn job,” he hissed. “I never truly enjoyed it but being the older of the brothers, I was obligated to take it. That isn’t the damn point though. We’ll figure something out. I promise you. I won’t let anyone hurt you, you hear me?” He waited. “Esmeralda?” Another pause. “You…”


	5. Chapter 5

_Time to say goodbye_

_Paesi che non ho mai veduto e vissuto con te adesso si li vivro_

_Con te partiro_

_Su navi per mari che io lo so_

_No, no, non esistono piu_

_Con te io li rivivro_

            “You remember me after how many years? Three, four? Ah, no matter. It’s great to see you again, minister. Just wish it would be under different, perhaps better, more comfortable circumstances, yes?” Claude glared at the ex-captain of the guard, not saying a word as he remained chained to the wall. “The life you have provided for her is definitely agreeing with her, is it not? She’s as gorgeous as ever. She’s stunning, just like always. She kept her figure well. Beautiful, flawless skin also. Strange, I expected a few marks. Perhaps some love ones to be exact. You disappoint me. Did you not claim her as soon as you imprisoned her?”

            Claude watched through furious granite eyes as Phoebus left his cell and entered the one across from his. He heard shackles come undone and his eyes narrowed as the blond idiot gathered his wife in his arms, holding her too close to his chest for his liking. “Where are you bringing her? Put her down!” he demanded, searching to see if his love was conscious. She showed no signs of it and his lips twisted into that of a snarl.

            “I’m bringing her to safety. The king agreed that I can claim her as mine as long as she obeys me and only me. You, however, will not be as lucky. You will be hung at the break of nightfall. Your dearly beloved will watch on as she is snuggled right into my arms against my chest.”

            Claude’s heart clenched in fear as Phoebus left with her. Only the Lord knew what terrible things she would have to face, that he would force upon her once he departed from this world. Phoebus had become infamous for his cruelty towards women. He highly doubted that Esmeralda would be any different. The thought of his emerald being beaten like a dog and treated less revolted him. She would eventually be killed, even if she withstood the beatings. He will kill her once he tired of her. Then she would join him in the sweet release of death. She will join him and they will be forever in paradise.

            But it was what she had to endure to get there. She would live in constant fear, constantly struggling to hold onto her life, sanity, and purity. But he will not let her rest. Claude knew he wouldn’t. He suspected that Phoebus was worse than what he had been with his lust. Claude had been able to contain it. He had patience whilst Phoebus lacked that particular trait. He will take, take, take and once she was drained and had nothing but her life to give, he would take that as well. He had no dignity and even less morality.

            Claude chuckled bitterly as he thought about it. That sounded a terribly lot like him. It really did. But he had changed for the better. He did and what he had done to her, he suspected, would not even be one-fifth of what the deranged man would do to her. Claude knew his limit. He was fulfilled. Phoebus would never be fulfilled.

            The minister struggled against the chains, calling out his wife’s name. “Esmeralda! Esmeralda!” he cried out until his voice grew sore, every breath beginning to hurt as he panted. “Esmeralda!” he called out one last time before he fell limp against the chains. He didn’t feel himself collapse on the ground nor the hands that roughly puled him up. His gray orbs saw dully the cells he passed. They were filled with women, all of them, chained and thrashing. Animalistic growls and unnatural cries escaped their lips as they waited for something. Freedom, torture, death, rape. Anything. The waiting had driven them mad. They screamed, begged, pleaded to absent ears and the connection was made. Gypsies. They reminded him of the so many gypsies he had slaughtered, killed out of pure hatred.

            His eyes caught sight of a particular one that was unmarked. She was struggling with the rest of them but not against chains. Raven hair as that of a bird’s feather, caramel skin that glowed so vibrantly and flashing emerald eyes. Claude froze in his spot as he saw who she was struggling against. His granite eyes narrowed in hatred as he advanced towards the cell, yelling profanities at the man holding the woman before something harsh connected with the back of his head and he knew no more.


	6. Chapter 6

_Con te partiro_

_Su navi per mari che io lo so_

_No, no, non esistono pui_

            The gypsy watched the ordeal, her eyes closing with horror as her husband’s body slumped forward. “No,” she whispered in fright. She glanced up at Phoebus who kept her pinned against the wall, pressing a hand over her mouth to shut her up. Her emerald eyes filled with tears as her breathing quickened. Just like her husband, she had heard about his despicable actions. The cries of the women that filled the dungeons shook her to her core.

            “Take him to the gallows,” Phoebus spat towards the king’s guards. “Prepare him for hanging. Make sure he doesn’t escape. Once Quasimodo rings the bells twelve times, his body will hang for all to see their precious minister.”

            Esmeralda sucked in a breath once he released his hand. “Kill me along with him,” she readily decided. “Grant me death alongside him. Please.”

            “Quiet, bitch. I will do no such thing,” he growled, slapping her across the face. Her head snapped to the side from the sheer force and it took her a while to regain her composure from the slap. She ignored the moment’s brutality, glaring up at him through defiant emerald eyes as she spoke again.

            “If you will not grant me the honor, then let me say goodbye to him before he is hanged. Deal?”

            “What’s in it for me?” he tested, eyeing her warily.

            “Gypsies are known to be harlots, aren’t we? I’ll grant you your darkest desires without complaint. Anything you want me to do and I’ll do it. I’ll answer your every call, satisfy your every need. I’ll belong to it. I. Swear. It.”

            “Before the hanging, you may speak with him. You will have but only five minutes to exchange your goodbyes. No more than that.”

            She nodded mutely, her gaze returning to the judge that resided on the stone cold floor. She wanted to protest as the men grabbed his arms, dragging him away like a butchered cow, nothing to be handled with care, just something to dispose of. That was all. Nothing of importance. She scoffed at that, trembling at the scene despite the cold exterior that she showed to the Sun God.

            “Into my bedroom,” Phoebus instructed. “Find a dress that fits her. Doesn’t matter what kind. Go on.” Two guards grabbed the gypsy, bringing her into Phoebus’ room. It reeked of sex and alcohol. It was warm, indicating that he either just relieved himself or had taken an unfortunate girl from the dungeons and had did it with her. Either willingly or not. It disgusted her, nonetheless. Apart from that, she barely had any time to gather her thoughts when she was suddenly stripped bare from her prison attire. One guard held her still, preventing her from struggling while the second guard stood by the doorway, watching with a smirk and no doubt, a growing bulge. A young girl worked quickly, changing her to a plain white dress that clung uncomfortably. The maid tied the bodice tightly, cutting off her air. She let out a hiss of pain, her chest rising and falling quickly as she desperately tried to get air into her lungs.

            The guard holding her down released her, causing her to crumple forward in pain. The three walked away, locking the minister’s wife inside the large yet stuffy room. The Bohemian let out a growl of frustration as she fought to untie her tight bonds that restricted her breathing. Upon success, she let out a gasp, coughing as she managed to finally regulate her breathing. She remained on the floor, holding her churning stomach. She had nothing to throw up, already having expelled the liquids before and she hadn’t eaten or drank since then. And she didn’t move until the first chime of the bells, seven more following. The room gradually grew darker as the sun continued its descent. Heaving herself up, she saw a man setting up the rope for the executions to begin. Unlike the others, Claude had four more hours left.

            Unwanted tears filled her eyes as she thought about that. That was such a short amount of time. So short. So… She couldn’t finish her thoughts as her vision met a long line of people, mostly women, to be executed. The ones in the dungeons that caused shivers to rush down her spine as she remembered their tortured cries. And she couldn’t help but wonder if she would ever end up in a cell, begging for the waiting to end, to eventually line up to be killed like cattle.

            Two hours. Then three. She had been left alone with her thoughts and the sights of the executions. Some women pleaded for their lives based upon them kneeling in front of the executer, gripping onto his legs. She could only imagine what they were willing to give up for their lives. Others looked half dead upon arrival, weak, cold, hungry, and actually looking forward towards the sweet release of death. God knew what they lost. Others accepted their fates with their heads held high, not ready to back down even walking through the valley of death. And she watched the line gradually become shorter and shorter, her emerald eyes searching for Claude as the end of the line finally became visible. She was snapped from the silence as Phoebus entered, grabbing her arm and pulling her out of the room. She didn’t protest his harsh actions, wondering where they were going even if she already had a pretty good idea in mind. “Is it?”

            Phoebus nodded. “It’s time.”


	7. Chapter 7

_Con te io li rivivro_

            She was shoved down to the gallows and was eventually released. She rushed up to the wooden platform, staring at her husband, a noose around his neck. His eyes were closed, blood rushing down the side of his head. “Claude?” she asked, her voice breaking to see him in such a state.

            His granite eyes opened, meeting her gaze. “Esmeralda,” he whispered. “What are you-?” He glanced back to Phoebus and the king’s men standing guard and he uttered the best he could come up with. “Esmeralda, run. Go!”

            She shook her head sadly. “I cannot, Claude. There are guards everywhere. I have no chance. I’m here to say goodbye, no matter how much it pains me to do so.”

            “No, no. Esmeralda. It’s not goodbye. It’s never going to be goodbye. It’s not. Don’t say that it is. It’s always been good day or goodnight. It’s never goodbye! Esmer-!” He was cut off by a heartbreaking kiss.

            “I don’t want to, Claude. But this is it. Until we meet again, goodbye, my love. We will see each other again. I swear it. I’ve never lied to you before. And I’m not going to start now. I love you and… I’ll never forget you. You’ll always be on my mind. I will always think about you, dream about being with you. This is not the end. We’ll be reunited… We will.” She kissed him deeply once again, tears rolling down her cheeks. She placed her forehead upon his, a soft whimper escaping past her lips. The pain in her eyes shone brightly and Claude wanted nothing more than to erase it.

            The bell tolled once, twice, twelve times. Esmeralda was pulled off the gallows roughly. “Until we meet again, my emerald,” Claude murmured just as the wooden floor gave way. But despite the fact she knew that he was going to be killed, she couldn’t suppress the agonizing cry of pain as soon as she witnessed the rope hanging taunt. She collapsed to her knees in despair, burying her head into her hands as she shook with sobs.

            Phoebus grabbed her, pulling her to her bare feet and shoving her into a carriage. She stared numbly out the window despite the many fears and worries spurring through her. She didn’t comprehend anything Phoebus was saying to her. It went in one ear and out the other. All she heard were his last words. _“My emerald”_ , he had said. _“My emerald…”_

            “My Claude,” she whispered tiredly, her eyes closing as she brought a hand over her chest. “My heart beats for the both of us,” she whispered in Bohemian. She caught Phoebus’ quizzical look towards her and only glared in response to which she earned a painful slap, her head slamming into the side of the carriage. And so it begins…

\-------------

            The Gypsy Queen landed on the bedroom floor with a grunt. She laid on her side, breathing heavily, the bitter taste of blood lingering in her mouth. She spat out more of the bright red fluid, adding to the now crimson carpeting. She stared at him through furious and spiteful emerald orbs, unable to crawl away however as he came closer, grabbing her by her neck and pulling her up. “Useless bitch,” he snarled, tossing her on the bed as though she weighed nothing which wasn’t far from the truth anymore.

            For five agonizingly slow and long months, she had been beaten, starved, burned, whipped, licked, raped, and straight out tortured whenever he pleased, especially if he was in a bad mood. She was his outlet for violent and sexual relief. She had heard of the horrors, saw the effects of them but couldn’t imagine it to that extent of misery and fear he placed within the gypsy. It was though he was Satan himself, controlling Phoebus’ body and using it as his own.

            “On your hands and knees,” he spat, flipping her over to her stomach. This revealed, beneath the mass of raven hair, the extent of his torture. She was but skin and bones, her caramel skin marked with scars from burns, cuts, and whips. Infected stab wounds were hastily bandaged while others were left open, untreated. “Or do I have to get the whip again?” he snarled in her ear, grabbing her by her ebony hair and pulling her up, her back curving unnaturally. She let out a soft cry of pain at that, tears filling her eyes as she finally obliged to his wishes. “Good girl,” he mumbled angrily as he trusted into her for the second time that hour.

            She grimaced as he forced himself in her dry opening, her breathing picking up from the pain. She was used to gentleness, tenderness from her recently deceased husband. She hissed as he hit a certain spot, more than sore. Rather annoyed from her protests despite her not saying anything, he grabbed an old, blood cloth, tying it around her mouth. “Shut up, harlot. You enjoy this, don’t you?” He leaned down, biting her neck harshly as he continued to thrust. She winced and felt him pierce the skin, blood starting to roll down, joining the many other cuts that were freely bleeding from the sadist.

            “Bastard,” she growled in response. “Stop! Stop it!” she cried, starting to shake as he wrapped his hand around her throat. He finished quickly, moaning loudly as he emptied inside of her. His eyes closed as he panted, still not getting out of her and not letting go of her throat. He flipped the gypsy over, pressing a hand to her mouth and nose, tightening his grip to her throat. Realizing what was occurring, she acted quickly, slamming her knee in between his legs, attempting to get off of him.


	8. Chapter 8

_Con te partiro_

            “Fucking bitch!” He yelled, a hand over is groan before he grabbed her arm, pulling her back into the bed. He roughly got on top of her again, twisting her arm painfully until a loud crack filled the room. She let out a painful cry as she stared up at him, still struggling beneath him/

            “Let go of me! Let go!”

            “Oh, I’ll let go,” he snarled and got off the bed, grabbing her good arm and dragging her off. He shoved her into the dungeons, kicking her into an empty cell. “Rot here. I’ll find someone new, harlot,” he snarled and left, the door slamming shut behind him.

            She was shivering from the cold, nude and in the dead of winter. She huddled into a corner and fell into an uneasy sleep. She knew her time was coming. It remained over her like a dark shadow. She was awoken by a fit of coughs as she shook horribly, her stomach growling painfully for she had not eaten in two weeks. When the coughing died down, she began to think, wonder if she would be executed or if she would die of a fever or of starvation in the cell. She knew she was going to die soon. Phoebus grew tired of her. There was no other option for her besides the release of death.

            The days went by agonizingly slow for her. She got no food, no water, and despite it being only a few days, it felt longer than a year. She was cold, exhausted, hungry. The gypsy laid on the stone cold floor, coughing as her stomach grumbled painfully. She wanted to sleep so terribly but the pain refused her the sweet release. She laid there, staring out the single window, the moon casting a cool glow in the frigid cell. She allowed her eyes to close hours later, a strange feeling of sleep, so deep, so welcoming and soothing, sweeping over her. She let out a single breath, her body relaxing for the final time.

            A bright glow caused her to open her emerald eyes. She glanced up, seeing him standing there, holding an outstretched hand to her. She said nothing, no words being needed as he invited her to join him, a gentle smile on his lips. She stood, taking his hand and going into his arms, the white light surrounding her. She refused to look back, happy, content with her husband as she left the one world to spend eternity with him in the next.

_Io con te_


End file.
